


Similar, You and I

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, I just wanted these two to interact, I need them to be friends, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he drawls in an attempt to shift his thoughts away from the path they oh-so-often try to wander down. “Archie spending a little too much time with his guitar again?”Veronica glances away, tongue sliding across her lips as she fights a smile. “Evidently, seeing as I’ve willingly put myself in the path of your tireless wit,” she retorts. She turns her attention to the jacket bunched up beside him, occupying a seat all of its own. “A little late in the season for leather, don’t you think?” That same eyebrow lifts again, holding a distinct sense of challenge, and Jughead wonders if the muscle in her brow ever gets tired.





	Similar, You and I

“Jughead Jones. The Third.”

  
  
Jughead closes his eyes for the briefest of moments at the sound of the voice coming from the figure now lording over him. For such a petite woman she has an undoubtedly imposing presence. He casts his gaze upwards towards her own, slowly—lazily—as if it takes him a great effort to meet her unwavering stare.

 

  
“Veronica Lodge. The one and only,” he mimics, right down to the pointedly arched eyebrow. She adds a smirk to her expression.

  
  
“Well, at least you’ve got one thing right,” she quips offhandedly as she readjusts the strap of her purse nestled in the crook of her elbow. “May I sit?” She gestures to the unoccupied side of the booth with a tilt of her head. In a vain attempt of refusal, Jughead just shifts in his seat, which clearly she mistakes for his indifference and proceeds to slide across the vinyl, settling in.  

  
  
He does everything in his power to defiantly ignore her, neither closing nor looking up from his laptop screen as she folds her hands neatly on the table top. In a moment of petulance he even takes to typing out a few strings of complete gibberish, an incoherent collection of unidentifiable words, in order to keep up the illusion of busy hands. Something about the look she’s sending his way is unnerving, like her patient exterior is barely concealing the true agenda of her stop at his booth.

  
  
He hopes that if the constant clack of fingers on keys continues, she won’t take the opportunity to speak.

  
  
“Here you go, Miss Veronica,” Pop says with a hearty warmth, depositing the plates balanced on his arms between the pair.

  
  
“Thank you, Pop.”

  
  
Jughead can’t help but pause as he takes in the sheer volume of food now occupying the once empty space. “Hungry?” he asks, hands stilling, breaking the undeclared standoff. She smiles immediately, and Jughead can’t help but feel like he’s lost.

  
  
“They’re for you,” she chirps happily, pushing one of the porcelain plates closer, only reaching out to claim the cream-topped chocolate shake for her own. “Dig in.”

  
  
Jughead acquiesces to finally closing his laptop, rolling his head back against the booth as he slides it to the side to regard her properly. “Trying to buy my affections, Richie Rich?” he enquires dryly, even while swiping a fry through a pool of ketchup, chewing thoughtfully.

  
  
“What can I say, it’s a Lodge specialty.” She lifts her shoulders delicately in deprecation, her tone lacking any embarrassment.

  
  
The summer heat is refusing to subside, even though the sun has already dipped below the horizon a few hours earlier. Jughead can see a light sheen on her exposed collarbones and the expanse of her forehead, the remnants of her makeup doing its best to keep the shine at bay despite the lateness of the hour. Veronica still looks perfectly put together, nonetheless, as if the day and whatever trials it may have had haven’t had the chance to touch her. When she flicks a lock of her dark hair away from her eyes, Jughead catches the lingering scent of orchids and something deep that he wants to describe as ‘velvet’. It’s a scent he’s grown familiar with, but he’s also used to another accompanying it—something sweeter.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he drawls in an attempt to shift his thoughts away from the path they oh-so-often try to wander down. “Archie spending a little too much time with his guitar again?”

 

Veronica glances away, tongue sliding across her lips as she fights a smile. “Evidently, seeing as I’ve willingly put myself in the path of your tireless wit,” she retorts. She turns her attention to the jacket bunched up beside him, occupying a seat all of its own. “A little late in the season for leather, don’t you think?” That same eyebrow lifts again, holding a distinct sense of challenge, and Jughead wonders if the muscle in her brow ever gets tired. He rolls his bare shoulders but doesn’t take his focus from the plates. One hand leaves the table to rest on his Serpents jacket—whether he’s trying to hide or defend it, he isn’t sure.

 

“Jughead, as much as it might dismay you, we’re quite similar, you and I,” Veronica begins, ignoring his initial question still.

 

This isn’t news to him.

 

There was a part of him that had been rather consciously pushing back at Veronica’s presence ever since she floated into town on the fog, a hooded figure emerging from the great beyond. She upset the balance, knocking his already teetering world further off kilter, until things began unravelling faster than Sweetwater after a storm. Logically, he knows that even if it weren’t for the Lady Lodges, the events that pushed Riverdale over the brink had already been set in motion. But the fates aligned their arrival with the further decline—not rise—of a never-innocent town, and Jughead felt inclined to tar her with a brush named catalyst.  

 

And as a child forever feeling guilty for his father’s crimes, who was he to leave Veronica blameless for Hiram’s _generous_ inclusion of FP in his unsavoury schemes?

 

An eye for an eye, a jail sentence for a jail sentence. While the morally corrupt typically gravitated towards one another, their bank balance usually did a good enough job of ensuring which of them paid the price for their evil doings. So why shouldn’t he dislike Veronica? This girl who appeared on the wind, cloak as dark as the shadow that would follow her footsteps, and like the little kid given the controls at the funfair she’d given his already spiralling world an extra shove.

 

Jughead had probably been more perturbed by the fact that he didn’t dislike Veronica at all. Her background, yes; her privilege was loud and unavoidable, a part of her personality so intricately woven into her character that the two were indiscernible. But, he had come to realise, it was this that had warmed him to her.

 

Although at vastly opposite ends of the social spectrum, they really weren’t (as Veronica on occasion decided to remind him) that different from one another. They were both left to deal with a situation as sticky as the maple syrup their troubles were founded upon, due to the men in their lives that were supposed to protect them. And when they both found that rare person they wished to care for, they cared deeply and without restraint. Yet another thing that often found them in hot water.

 

“You like to remind me of that, yes,” Jughead agrees warily, around a bite of onion ring. He still hasn’t made the leap between her words and her presence here.

 

“When things get a little out of hand we both find it difficult to surrender control and lean on the people in our lives to help us.” Veronica holds his gaze as she lowers her lips back to her straw.

 

Jughead rolls his lower lip between his teeth as he sits back with a low thud, turning his head to look out of the window. “Listen, Nurse Ratched, while this little psych-evaluation is thrilling and all, I was actually in the middle of something,” he gripes, pulling his laptop back towards him. “So, if you could just—”

 

“Oh, look! Budget Kerouac is retreating into his hobby to avoid addressing his feelings,” Veronica pouts, a sharp edge to her teasing. Jughead narrows his eyes, reaching out to steal the cherry from on top of her shake in retaliation.

 

She sighs, steepling her fingers as she leans forwards. “Look, all I’m saying is there’s a reason I knew where to find you at this exact moment in time, on this day, doing whatever it is you’re doing on that thing,” she gestures flippantly at his laptop. “This is your safe place, just like shopping is mine,” she smiles, pressing a delicate hand to her chest.

 

Jughead snorts, shaking his head with an undeniable affection. Veronica never tried to hide her wealth—an impossibility—leaning into it in an attempt to not let its affiliations consumed her. Even more than that, although someone trying to wipe away all problems with their copious amounts of money disgruntled him, there was something in the way that Veronica conducted herself around it that Jughead couldn’t help but admire—taking what even _he_ knew to be a burden and using it for good. Most of the time, at least.

 

What he had really come to appreciate was that she never sacrificed who she was in order to find her place in this back-of-nowhere town.

 

“Where we differ, however,” she is continuing on, “is that while I’m quite adept at holding my nose in the air when something uncomfortable passes my way, you have trouble extracting your head from its place lodged in your backside.”

 

“I resent that,” Jughead mutters weakly, picking through the remaining fries.

 

“And while it may not be a friendship in the most conventional of terms,” she powers on, ignoring him, “I’d like to think that we’re at least a little past the bounds of acquaintance in which I can help you during your hour of need.”

 

They regard each other in a moment of loaded silence across the booth, before the tension slumps from Jughead’s shoulders. “Betty called you.”

 

Veronica nods. “Her bus gets in at nine.”

 

He hadn’t seen Betty since the beginning of the summer, right before she went home to collect her duffel and hightail it to the bus depo. His mind cringes away from the conversation that, in summary, was basically her telling him that she had another summer interning at the same LA publication as last year, and she didn’t think that they should talk while she was gone—that they should take this time to reset and reevaluate before they jumped into anything that either of them might regret.

 

 _“I just know that if I don’t take this time away, to figure out how I’m feeling, and what_ I _want, moving forwards won’t be forward at all. And I don’t want to do that to you—to us. If we do decide to try and make it work once I’m back, I want this to be it, Jug. This will be it for me, and I don’t think I can come back from us hurting each other like that again.” She was toying with the fingers on his right hand, keeping her head downcast, stray tendril of loose hair fluttering against her reddened cheeks. “I don’t think we should call, or text, or anything while I’m gone. This’ll be good for us.”_

 

Jughead knew what she was saying was making sense. They’d hurt each other too deep, and too often, in his time since joining the Serpents. He was only just slowly finding his feet in the reptile infested waters, figuring out what he really wanted to get out of this new version of family he’d been initiated into, to life settled on the Southside, but he couldn’t deny the things he’d sacrifice to find some semblance of balance.

 

And they’d finally, _finally_ begun to make their way towards one another again, to walk it back. Jughead was having some trouble adjusting to the spark of hope settling low in his stomach every time Betty curls her fingers around his or tentatively brushes her lips against his.

 

It was that ‘ _if_ ’ that was causing that spark to turn into a swirling nausea with each passing day that brought Betty’s return closer. _If_ they decide to try and make it work. What if she’d come to the conclusion that her life without him over the past couple of months was so much easier, that he wasn’t worth all the trouble he’d caused?

 

He hadn’t worn his Serpents’ jacket in a long while, its position on the bench beside him the first time he’d brought it out of the closet in months. He hadn’t even wanted to put it on, but it’s presence made him feel like he had somewhere to fall. He knew Betty would be disappointed if she saw it, and he felt a rising guilt, that it might _guilt_ _her_ into saying something other than she meant. It was a stupid, rash decision to bring it. Suddenly he can’t bear to look at it and stuffs it unceremoniously into his messenger bag.

 

“Are you okay?” Veronica asks quietly, watching his movements. Jughead shrugs, accepting the glass when she pushes it across the table.

 

“Have you been talking to her?” he can’t resist asking, looking up at her hopefully.

 

“Yes,” Veronica replies, clearing her throat. “She’s had an amazing time out West. Betty said there were three other interns on the programme that she’s getting along wonderfully with. They go out for dinner, and to the beach after work. She’s living the self sufficient dream, really; she said she was almost sad to come home,” she recounts dreamily.

 

“If your intention was to come by to offer a pep talk you should really check the manual again,” Jughead scowls. Veronica snatches the shake back with a huff.

 

“Almost sad, _almost_ ,” she emphasises. “She really misses you Jughead, most of all. No matter how offended I pretended to be.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder demurely.

 

The spark catches and flickers weakly.

 

“But I knew just how fragile you might be in this moment and I wanted…” Veronica hesitates, pressing her lips together for a moment. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t too worried. Before you spiralled too much,” she teases after a breath. “I just know that I think I’d be feeling exactly the same way as you’re feeling right now, if the situation allowed it. Uncertainty has never been my friend, or allowing someone to take the reins completely. I’d feel out of control and lost, and like the outcome couldn’t possibly be what I wanted it to be because it wasn’t me calling the shots. And I just wanted to tell you that it’s going to be fine. The element of surprise hasn’t always been kind to you and I… I just wanted to offer you some certainty.”

 

An unfamiliar swell of affection blooms in his chest for Veronica’s thoughtfulness and he ducks his head to hide his reddening cheeks.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, although not as grudgingly as he thought he might.

 

“Of course. A Lodge always helps a friend in need,” she almost recites dutifully, leaning back in her seat.

 

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Does a Lodge always have to talk about themselves in _Game of Thrones_ -esque mantras?” Veronica only smirks slyly.

 

“Betty’s expecting me to pick her up from the depo any minute now,” she says, glancing over towards the neon _Cola_ clock above the counter. “But I thought maybe you’d want to do it.”

 

The sentiment building in the atmosphere is a little too much for Jughead and he nods quickly, gathering his stuff and slipping out of the booth. He hesitates by her side of the table, rocking back on his sneakers awkwardly.

 

“I’m really glad we’re friends,” he says after a moment. Veronica stills, turning to him quickly before her parted lips lift into a surprised smile.

 

“Me too, Jughead.” She stands as well, pecking his cheek delightedly. “Now go. It’s never good form to be late when picking up the love of your life.” That eyebrow lifts again, and Jughead is still chuckling when he pushes open the door.

.

.

.

Jughead barely hears the squeaking of the old bus breaks when it pulls into the bay above the pounding in his ears.

 

Everything else fades out when he sees a blonde ponytail appear from the doorway. Betty’s skin is a sun-kissed gold, her long, toned legs exposed beneath a light pink pleated skirt, a thin, white tank tucked neatly in the waistband. She’s fiddling with the front pocket on her duffel and hasn’t seen the spot where he’s currently melting into a puddle on the sidewalk.

 

Betty finally glances up, no doubt searching for a sleek, black car service. Her wide eyes connect with his and her steps falter. The expression on her face is blank and unreadable as she takes slow, measured steps towards him.

 

Jughead takes a deep breath. “Listen, Betty. Veronica just thought that maybe—” The rest of his sentence is lost against her lips as she drops her bag and launches herself towards him, the warm weight of her body against the length of his nothing but welcome despite the summer heat.

 

His reflexes kick in and he catches her around the waist, pulling her in tightly while she reaches up to cup his cheeks, strawberry scented breath blowing into his mouth as her lips work his open hurriedly.

 

When they finally part they’re both breathing heavily, foreheads coming down to rest against one another’s, the spark now a full blown forest fire.

 

“Hi,” Betty whispers bashfully, and Jughead watches as the flush across her collarbones deepens a shade.

 

“Hi,” he replies just as giddily.

 

“I missed you so much, Juggie,” she breathes, pushing her fingers through his hair, eyes greedily taking in his features.

 

“You have no idea, Betts,” he chuckles with a shake of his head.

 

Her fingers are laced tightly with his over the console while they make the trip back into town when she asks, “You said something about Veronica?” In the low light of the night, her hair blowing in the breeze coming in through the open window, he’s never seen something so beautiful. The weight of her hand in his keeps him perfectly grounded.

 

“Oh, yeah, we just talked tonight. We have a lot in common, you know.”


End file.
